


Oasis

by SevralShips



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angstangstangst, F/M, Sexual Frustration, tw incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9980162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevralShips/pseuds/SevralShips
Summary: Mabel and Dipper always fantasized about the day they could live together in their own apartment, away from prying eyes and watchful parents. But being an adult is no walk in the park, and it's just not the way Mabel thought it would be. The doldrums of living together and being broke is nothing like the foes the twins have overcome in the past.





	

Mabel awoke at Dipper’s voice in her ear, “Love you, Mabes,” before planting a peck on her temple. She was only just blinking her eyes open, looking across the sparsely furnished studio apartment. As it was really just a rectangular room with a teensy kitchenette and a teensier bathroom, the door was only several feet from the mattress on the floor which was their bed. Mabel watched Dipper grab his keys from the blue glass bowl by the door. He glanced back at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the sight of her grumpy-Gus morning face peeking out from under the covers, before all but flying out the door with a, “Seeya tonight,”

“Seeya,” Mabel grumbled sleepily to the empty apartment. She half rolled over, careful not to untuck the blankets burritoed around her, and squinted at Dipper’s alarm clock. 9:21. _Shit, no wonder he was hustlin’,_ Mabel noted, knowing how far behind schedule he was. His bus came at 9:30, and if he booked it, he might not miss it. _Maybe he’ll miss it,_ Mabel thought with a mischievous smile beginning to rise on her lips, flopping back to her original position to gaze hopefully at the door, _then he’ll have to come back home._

Half-drowsing, Mabel lay in bed with her eyes glued to the door. After a while, she realized that Dipper must already be long gone, despite how much she had willed the bus to leave without him. She sighed and chewed her lip, reminding herself that that train of thought was selfish and clingy and indulgent. She didn’t _really_ want Dipper to miss class. _It’s important to him so it’s important to me,_ she told herself, although internally, she wasn’t really convinced. She knew that was how couples were _supposed_ to feel, but did any couple _really_ have the self-sacrificing, saintly ability to draw interest for _all_ of their lover’s pursuits out of some cray-cray internal well that never ran out? _Un-flippin-likely,_ she told herself.

“What do you know about relationships?” she asked herself aloud, slightly muffled against the comforter in which she was swaddled. This was the only serious relationship she’d ever been in, and there wasn’t exactly a guidebook on how to be a good girlfriend to your brother.

She’d pretty much considered herself an expert by the time they moved in here a couple months prior. When Dipper had gotten this gig as an adjunct professor at Merritt College, where Mabel was still a part-time student, it was a no-brainer. Living together in Oakland? It was a dream come true. They’d been waiting for the time to be right since High School. It’d been _years_ already, and Mabel had been confident that she had the whole bro-friend thing on lockdown.

But it wasn’t the way she’d envisioned all those years. While they were tiptoe-ing around their parents’ house or slogging through semesters being states apart, this had always been their pet fantasy. Whispering about it late at night, trying to believe this day would come. Like an oasis, shimmering and hovering just on the horizon, where they would have freedom, and privacy, and a medicine cabinet with both of their things in it, and a dish-washing routine after meals, and maybe even a pet, and, bestest of all, a bed of their own to share. How many gazillions of times had they soothed each other with the promise that _someday_ they’d be within arm’s reach and they wouldn’t have to deal with the constant longing, the unabating missing each other?

 _But an oasis isn’t real,_ Mabel found herself thinking bitterly, pulling the blankets tighter still, _that’s like the whole biz with oases, they’re all in your janked-up mind._ Maybe that made it the perfect word, though, she figured. _Dip and I were dying of thirst, so this looked like a kickass waterfall, with tropical flowers and a nice lil rainbow over it and lots of sex._ She peered around the tiny apartment. No waterfalls, no flowers, no rainbow. She frowned at the empty spot beside her in bed. No sex.

 _Well, not_ no _sex,_ she reminded herself, wanting to give credit where it was due, _we just did the do the other day. Just last week. Wait… Or was it the week before?_ She screwed up her face, trying to backtrack through the uniform days of classes and waitressing shifts, of Dipper sprinting out in the mornings after inevitably sleeping in, of scraping together rent and writing the check, somehow feeling both triumphant and deflated about the transaction. _It was the day I took Alicia’s morning shift,_ Mabel realized, adding days together on her fingers. Her heart sank.   _Twenty days? For real? That’s almost three stinkin’ weeks! No wonder I’m such a sourpuss!_

Without another moment’s hesitation, Mabel slipped her hand under her sleep shorts within her blanket cocoon. Sexual frustration was a problem to which she actually had the solution. Her skin was pleasantly warm to the touch, a result of hours wrapped up in blankets, and it made her hand feel quite cool. She probed one cool fingertip just between her lips, unsurprised to find herself already pretty wet. _It’s a pretty consistent weather pattern down south lately,_ she absently noted as her fingers fell into a familiar choreography. Mabel closed her eyes, trying to focus on the feeling of her fingers sliding steadily in and out of her, nudging the sensitive spots just so. Her thumb brushed against her clit, trying to imitate the sensation of _that thing_ Dipper did with his thumb. It sent a thrill through her, but it was also a little like trying to tickle herself. Being able to anticipate the exactness of the touch dulled the effect.

It felt good, though, and Mabel found her breath growing heavier. She was often frisky in the mornings and today was no exception. _What if Dipper walked in right now?_ She wondered. Indulging her fantasy, she imagined he’d missed his bus after all, and willed her ears to hear his key engaging the lock. How he’d drop them in the bowl with a jangle, already walking towards the ‘bedroom’. He’d be flushed from running in vain to the bus stop, his cheeks bright and a dewy film on his skin. The hair would be sweaty and stuck against his temples and his forehead and he’d gratefully shed layers of clothing as he approached her. He’d be talking, oblivious to her illicit activities, but as he looked at her face, he’d recognize the expression and his eyebrows would lift in an intrigued little way.

“ _What’s this?”_ he’d say, or “ _I see you’re having a good morning!”_ , or “ _Keeping all the fun to yourself?_ ” or some other dorky flirtation. And he’d sit down on the edge of the bed, the sweat cooling on his bare chest, having just ditched his shirt on the floor. And even with him right there, Mabel wouldn’t stop, raising an eyebrow and daring him to intervene. He’d grin then, pulling back the covers like unwrapping a present, revealing her. Just the sight of her hand moving under her pajamas would be enough to ignite a hungry passion in him and he would be all over her. His lips and teeth worshipping her neck and breasts, his hands peeling away her clothes, dancing across her skin, sometimes firm, sometimes as delicate as butterfly wings. He’d eagerly replace her hand, and they would move together with abandon, their uninhibited cries bouncing off the walls of this space that they didn’t have to share with anyone. Their movements would grow more and more desperate, grinding and thrusting in an effort to get even closer to each other, clawing and biting and kissing tenderly even amidst the madness of their lust. His thrusts would grow more needy, more stiff, his gasping breath more and more ragged against her neck. His orgasm would build in unison with hers, both climbing closer and closer and closer to that edge, only to reach climax together in glorious harmony.

Only she didn’t. Growing more and more frustrated, Mabel forged on, replaying the third act of her fantasy again. She was fingering herself in clumsy desperation, her palm cramping badly. She replayed the fantasy _again_ , paying special attention to the spots she knew to have the most sensation. It had grown excruciatingly hot beneath the blankets. She rolled onto her stomach, hoping the extra pressure on her clitoris and lower abdomen would ensure orgasm as it normally did. She replayed the fantasy in her head yet again, rutting against her hand beneath her, moaning the urgency of her need into her pillow.

Fantasy Dipper reached his climax without her yet again and her need easily crossed the easily-blurred boundary between lust and anger and her moan crescendoed quite suddenly into a roar. Impatiently, she threw the blankets off and sat up, hurling her pillow across the room with a sound somewhere between a cry and a growl. It was a pillow, of course, so there was no satisfying crash, no _bang_ , no shattering pieces to serve as a small outlet to her anger. The pillow simply slid across the floor until it came to rest against the foot of the fridge with an anticlimactic, barely audible _whump._ Mabel glared at the pillow. Dipper wouldn't be walking in anytime soon and when he did, it was unlikely he would suddenly remember he desired her after weeks of disinterest. The thought stung, but there was no use denying it, _he doesn't want me._

 _It’s not fair,_ she thought tritely, and slapped her palms against the bed. It felt good to hit something and she repeated it several more times. She noticed the fitted sheet beside her was damp from the steam that had built up under the blankets as she’d chased her elusive orgasm. _They need to be washed anywho,_ she reminded herself (since Dipper seemed unaware of the fact that bedsheets in fact require washing) and mechanically began stripping the bed. She threw them into the plastic laundry basket and padded over to the stuffed dresser she and Dipper shared to grab a change of clothes.

Everything in her drawer was just a bit too cheerful for her present mood. _Maybe wearing something purdy will lift my spirits,_ she told herself, digging through sweaters and dresses and lingerie. The thought of putting on lingerie at present was a bit laughable, as she felt anything but sexy. _Exactly! It might make you_ feel _sexy, you cranky-butt!_ The infuriatingly optimistic voice within her nagged, _As we always say, life needs more lace._ Both she and her internal voice knew that that was not a catch-phrase of hers, though it had a good enough ring to it. Mabel lifted a pair of frilly lavender panties from the drawer and regarded them skeptically.

Striking a bargain with herself, Mabel discarded her sticky pajamas into the laundry basket on top of the sheets. She slipped into the frilly lavender panties, feeling slightly ludicrous putting on such a flirty, girly garment. Flirty and girly was normally one hundred and twenty percent her scene, but she just wasn’t feeling it today. To even out the silliness of wearing panties that looked _nothing_ like how she felt, Mabel covered them in a pair of grey basketball shorts swiped from Dipper’s drawer and one of the several murky green Mystery Shack tee shirts the twins had acquired over the years. It was soft and thin from many trips through the spin cycle and nearly a size too big. The baggy clothes in their muted colors suitably mirrored how Mabel was beginning to feel as her sour mood grew stormier and stormier.

She counted out quarters from the dish on top of the dresser and frowned, noting that only three remained. She dropped the handful of coins into the pocket of Dipper’s basketball shorts, hefted the laundry basket and trotted off to the laundry room. It was in the same building but two floors down. The elevator had been out of order for some time and Mabel gave it a longing glance as she trudged by to go the long way down the stairs. Her arms were feeling a little wobbly when she reached the laundry room and she silently thanked the universe that none of her neighbors were there. _How can a room that literally exists for cleaning stuff be so grody?_ she wondered, as she always did. The cloying scent of bleach and dryer sheets stung her nose. She loaded the washer, careful not to let anything touch the filthy floor even on its way _in_ to the wash, and glumly watched quarters disappear into the slot before turning back around and making the trip back to the apartment.

Upon returning, Mabel found herself underwhelmed by her own home. She looked at it appraisingly from the front door. The big window by the bed was the only particularly nice feature to the apartment. The cracking linoleum and dated appliances sure weren’t the selling point. Nor were the roaches in the bathroom, such a constant presence that Dipper joked that they ought to chip in for rent. Mabel shut the door behind her, dropping her keys in the glass bowl. Her stomach rumbled and a lightbulb just about went off in her head. _Food!_ It cheered, _Food will make you feel better!_

No such luck. The cupboard was nearly bare. Mabel scrounged up a can of tuna, a couple sorry slices of bread, and a couple leftover mayo packets and distractedly combined the ingredients to make a pretty sad tuna sandwich. The only dishes that were clean were some colorful plastic kids’ dishes Mabel had picked up for a buck at a thrift store at some point, and there was no denying that the neon green of her plate only made her pathetic lunch look more grey by contrast. She found herself famished though, and standing at the counter, she lifted it and took a bite. And got a mouthful of stale bread with a little bit of mayo as the runny tuna, displaced by the pressure of her teeth, slid out the back and landed directly on the top of her bare foot with a splat.

“ _EUGH!_ ” Mabel cried out in disgust, instinctively lifting her foot from the offending wet sensation. The sudden motion threw her off-balance and with all the grace of drunken hippopotamus, she teetered and landed painfully on her rear end. She held on uselessly to the empty slices of bread that had refused to perform as a sandwich, and once on the ground she blinked at them twice before dropping them. They hit the floor with a weak little sound. Mabel cast a wrathful eye at them, and the mess the tuna had made, on the floor and where it had splashed onto the baseboards of the cabinets.

 _I can’t do this,_ she thought limply, shaking her head slightly from side to side, _it’s not bleepin’ worth it._ The optimistic voice in her head piped up at once, insisting that _of course_ anything was worth it as long as she and Dipper were together. _But I don’t know how long that will be,_ she countered, the thought she’d been avoiding finally sneaking up on her. She felt her lip begin to quiver. _He already doesn’t want me, how much longer till he doesn’t love me? Till none of this junkum is worth it to him either?_ She asked herself bitterly as burning tears began to stream down her cheeks. She hated the sound of her own hitching sobs, echoing pitifully in the tiny apartment. She hugged her knees to her chest, letting the tears pour out of her.

It had hardly ever entered her mind that things might sour between her and Dipper. They were meant to be, after all. They were soulmates. They came into life together and they were supposed to share their lives...right? What was the last time it felt like that? Even the last time they’d had sex, 20 days prior, it hadn’t been the mind-bending intensely intimate magical thing that it had once been. It was quick and kinda dutiful, and they hadn’t even turned the lights on. _Is it really ending?_ Mabel asked herself, hating what that meant. What kind of normalcy could they ever build out of the total crud-storm that splitting up would be? Dealing with an ex was hard enough when they weren't at Thanksgiving, at Christmas, in your own reflection in the mirror. Because if they couldn’t make this work… well, it was weird enough to reconcile being in love with your twin, how could they handle _falling out of love_ with their twin?

 _Badly, dumdum,_ Mabel told herself, _you’re handling it_ badly. _But I’m not falling out of love with Dip,_ Mabel reminded herself, clutching her knees tighter, _I’m just watching him falling out of love with me._ The sobs that quaked her body hit with even greater force, and Mabel gave herself over to the anger and the hurt.

When the key turned in the lock and Dipper opened the door, with a “Mabes, I’m home,” Mabel stirred slightly from her trance. She wasn’t sure if she’d fallen asleep or if she’d just zoned out, but apparently a few hours had gone by, “Mabel?” Without looking up, she could sense the passage of his eyes, checking the bed, the lumpy little couch, the desk they shared, before his gaze landed on the grey-and-green blob on the kitchen floor. He was at her side in an instant, “Oh, god, Mabel, are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?” She just shook her head. Dipper looked around, his investigative mind quickly picking up some of the clues around her. He grimaced at the tuna salad, turned brown from sitting out. Without saying another word, he cleaned up the stinky mess and then returned to Mabel’s side, “I kinda get what happened with the tuna sandwich,” Dipper said gently, “But why is your pillow over there?”

The good-natured voice buried stubbornly in Mabel’s head chuckled, knowing it was a reasonable question. But Nice Mabel wasn’t in charge right now. She lifted her head to glare at him, “Because I put it there, dammit,” she snapped.

Dipper cocked his head, “Oo-kay… and why’d you do that?”

“ _I wanted to!_ ” she insisted, hating the petulant tone in her own voice. She saw Dipper’s effort not to smile, and added, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you, babe,” Dipper assured her, laying his hand on her shoulder. She stiffened at his touch and his forehead creased in concern, “Mabel…?”

“No, I’m not okay,” Mabel snarled, before he could ask, “Everything _stinks!_ ”

“Yeah, that would be the tuna,” Dipper joked. When he received no laugh, he said in an even voice, “Lemme help you get cleaned up.”

“Don’t pretend like you care,” Mabel grumbled.

Dipper froze, “What the hell, Mabes?” he asked, his own irritation rising, “Of course I care,” Mabel blew an unconvinced raspberry, “That’s not fair,” he said quietly as he dragged her to her feet.

Upon standing, she discovered her butt and feet were asleep from being bent in that position for so long. His disappointed tone stung her and she chanced another look at him. He was thinking hard, probably trying to puzzle out the reason for his sister’s rotten mood. She hated the cute way his brow furrowed, the thoughtful way his lips pursed to the side. _How will I ever be able to fall out of love with his dumb cute face?_ Mabel asked herself hopelessly, daunted by the idea of going back to only being his sister. He was beginning to approach the situation as a mystery to be solved, she could tell from the expression alone. _I can spot Dip’s mystery-solving mug from a mile away._ He kept his hands on her to guide her to the bathroom and she tried not to love the feeling of his touch.

In the bathroom, she took a seat on the closed toilet lid while Dipper sat on the edge of the tub turned on the water, testing the temperature before stopping the drain so that it would start to fill, “I don’t need a bath,” Mabel groused.

“The rancid tuna on your leg thinks otherwise,” Dipper snarked, without looking away from the water burbling out of the spout.

Mabel stared at the opposite wall, dispassionately watching the progress a cockroach was making. It was a small-ish one and as a result slightly lower on the Nightmare Fuel Scale than its heftier brothers and sisters. A couple months ago, the sight of it would have been enough to send Mabel into kill-it-with-fire hysterics, but she’d become de-sensitized to this, along with so many of the other less-than-ideal elements of her new life. Mabel glanced at the water rushing from the faucet into the scratched too-small tub. _Not exactly the waterfall I expected,_ she thought as, instead of rainbow-festooned mist, the tiny room filled up with clammy steam.

Dipper sighed at her uncooperative muteness and turned off the water, the silence sudden apart from the occasional _drip_ , “C’mon,” he said, willing his voice not to be too pushy, “I’ll wash it off for you,” Grudgingly, Mabel stood up from the toilet and stepped one foot into the pleasantly warm water, “Ew,” Dipper said, his face level with her hip, “You got it on my shorts?” He sounded disappointed again and Mabel grimaced slightly, “Take them off, it’ll be easier anyway without them getting in the way.”

Her hands had already risen to the waistband of the grey basketball shorts, but something about Dipper’s direct, pragmatic request froze them in place. She’d never been shy about her body around Dipper, even before their relationship had begun. A lifetime of swimming together, dressing rooms, and doctor’s offices together, sharing a bathroom and sometimes bedrooms had made semi-nudity pretty much a non-issue between them until they’d started wanting to look and touch more than was appropriate. But right now, for the first time since maybe ever, Mabel couldn’t quite stand the thought of him seeing her body. Not in this context. Not so he could wash her up like an invalid, not when he’d see her sans rose-tinted glasses in all her _blah_ -ness “C’mon, Mabes,” Dipper said. His voice was gentle, but there was an edge of irritation that Mabel knew him too well to miss. All she could manage was a weak shake of her head, “ _Mabel,_ ” Dipper said again, his tone a little more authoritative this time. Pulling her foot back out of the bath, Mabel pushed the shorts past her hips and let them pool around her ankles.

“Whoa, _hello_ there,” Dipper’s tone confused Mabel. It was his silly, flirty tone. Not at all what she expected as his response to her reluctantly exposed _blah-_ ness. She looked down, just to make sure she hadn’t accidentally acquired the body of a swimsuit model without remembering it. What she discovered was so much worse. She’d completely forgotten the frilly panties she’d pulled on in an idiotic fit of attempted optimism but there they were, in ridiculous contrast to the little bulge of her tummy and her pasty skin. With a groan, Mabel covered herself with both hands, feeling the color rising in her cheeks. Dipper laughed, _great, he’s laughing at me again,_ and said “Why so modest, Mabes? It’s not like there’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

 _None of this is special to him anymore and he doesn’t even give a fig-newton,_ Mabel stewed. She stepped back into the bath and sat on the edge of the tub, tugging at the frayed hem of the Mystery Shack tee shirt, willing it to cover every last inch of her, “You really don’t have to be so shy, Mabes, I just thought they were cute,” Dipper assured her, trying to smooth over whatever it was he had done wrong now. They _were cute,_ Mabel repeated in her head, as Dipper picked up a dreg of bar soap from the soap dish and lathered his hands a little, _they. The panties. Not me._ The tears were stinging her eyes before she even saw them coming and when Dipper’s hands dotingly lifted her leg out of the water and gently smoothed the soap across her ( _prickly_ ) skin, she couldn’t hold back a sniffle.

From his posture, Mabel knew that Dipper had heard her. _Oh, butt nuggets, now he’s gonna feel sorry for me._ His hands continued to massage the soap into her skin, but his eyes darted immediately to her face. Mabel continued to stare down at the water in the tub, her hands clutched the shirt so tight her knuckles were white, trying to hide. It was about as close to sweatertown as she could get in a tee shirt. She knew he was gonna ask, hoped that he would just leave it alone, but as usual Dipper did not defy her expectations,  “Mabel, honey, what’s up?”

She shook her head stiffly. _Please just leave me alone,_ she begged in her mind. She had always been the more confident of the two twins and she could feel Dipper’s incredulity. _I’m sorry, Dipper, I can’t anymore._ He said her name again, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t answer. The effort it was taking for her to keep from crying left her throat too tightly constricted to form words. He said her name again, his own voice sounding uncertain now. She shook her head again, tucking her chin close to her chest, and managed to whisper, “Please, just don’t look at me.”

“Aw, Mabes,” Dipper joked shakily, “Nothing says sexy like the smell of fish.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Mabel pleaded, letting go of the shirt to bury her face in her hands, unable to hold back the tears any longer, “S’not funny,”

“Hey, hey,” Dipper gently released her foot, dipping his hands in the water for an instant to rinse away the soap before wiping them impatiently on his pants and taking her in his arms. It felt so good, so warm, so right to be in his arms. _Don’t get used to it,_ she reminded herself and grew rigid at his touch, “You’re right,” he said, “I’m sorry.” He held her reluctant frame close for a moment before saying, “Please tell me what’s going on,”

“You don’t have to...to tease me about it…” Mabel stammered, “I know you don’t _want_ me, b-but you don’t have to _tease_ me about it.”

“Whoawhoawhoa, _what?”_ Dipper pulled back, holding Mabel at arm’s length. Mabel lifted her eyes to his uncertainly. He looked confused, scared, maybe even a teensy bit offended, “Since when do I…? What are you…? Is _that_ what this is about?”

Mabel gave a dry laugh, _how could he even ask?_ , “Um, _yeah_ , that’s what this is about. S-sorry I can’t just...just _take it in stride_ like you do.”

“Take it in stride?” Dipper eyes were searching her face, struggling to catch up, “There’s _nothing for me_ to take in stride! I want you as much as I ever have!” Mabel squeezed her eyes shut. _Why is he making this so much harder than it had to be? Why is he denying it?_ It made it hurt so much more. He took her face in his hands, his palms still damp against her flushed cheeks, “Mabel, seriously. I’ve never stopped wanting you. Please look at me,” she raised her eyes to his again. He was looking at her intensely, his brown eyes blazing, the way he used to look at her in High School after their jimmies would get rustled by almost getting caught, “Of course I want you. I love you. Why would you think that?”

Mabel blinked at him, “You want me?”

“Yes, dummy, of course I do!” Dipper insisted. Mabel considered what he was saying. _Even if he does, this can’t_ all _be in my head,_ she thought.

“Things are s-so different,” she managed to squeak, “Not...not at all l-like we expected,”

“That’s true,” Dipper admitted, as the small roach on the wall reached the shower curtain, “It’s not like we expected. But it’s better!”

Mabel scoffed, “What part is _better_?”

“The part where it’s not all in our heads,” Dipper replied, his voice softening a little. He scooted a little closer and leaned his forehead against hers, not allowing her eyes to leave his, “The part where we’re not _scared_ , and we’re not _apart._ The part where we don’t have to whisper to keep from waking up mom and dad, or roommates, or Grunkle Stan. The part where we don’t have to be afraid to do this,” he kissed her. His lips were so familiar, so soft, pressing against hers and _willing_ her to listen. _Maybe he’s right,_ she thought, leaning a tiny bit into the kiss, _It’s not like I used to daydream, but…_ she couldn’t deny the things he said. Had she really begun taking for granted the privacy and the immediacy of being together? And she couldn’t deny that there was immense love in this kiss. Not the kind that burned, not the madness of how it had been at the start, not the fierce lips and starving hands of their High School kisses, reckless and needy. Not the kind that froze time, not the tender, tear-jerking kisses of reunion, after months of distance the way the heart fluttered and threatened to burst at the slightest touch. No, it was not the frenzy of new love or the precious delicacy of being together again. It was warmth. It was the dependable security of coming home, the safety and solace of one’s own bed.

Their lips parted and Mabel opened her eyes to find Dipper still watching her, waiting to see if she understood. She gave him a small bashful smile, “You know what else?” he said, eyes twinkling.

“What?” Mabel asked.

“I can also do _this!_ ” Before she knew it, he was hoisting her up into his arms. She wriggled in his grip, unable to suppress the panicked giggles that bubbled out of her. He squeezed her squirming form close to him and kissed her shoulder. All the fight went out of her at the tiny, sweet gesture and she relaxed, curling up close against him. He stood up and walked out of the tiny bathroom, turning sideways so that they would fit through the doorway. He turned towards the bed and then turned to her, “The mattress is naked!” he said in a tone of mock-terror.

Mabel giggled, “Yes, it’s this crazy thing called doing laundry.”

“Ohhhh,” he nodded, as if suddenly understanding a new concept, “So lemme get this straight, you strip the dirty sheets off the bed,” Mabel nodded, “Take them down to the laundry room,” Mabel nodded, “And then leave them there?”

Mabel scowled jokingly, “I got distracted,”

Dipper shrugged, “We’ll just have to make due,” without warning, he jumped onto the bare mattress, still holding Mabel, and they fell in a cackling fit, all tangled up in each other’s arms.

When the last tremors of their laughter quieted, Mabel quietly said, “Sorry for forgetting the laundry,”

“Pssshh,” Dipper rolled his eyes, “I don’t care,” he rolled onto his side so that he was facing Mabel, their cheeks resting on the slightly rough ticking of the mattress. Dipper’s eyes grew serious and he touched Mabel’s cheek, “I’m sorry, too, Mabes. I’m really sorry I...made you feel that way,”

Mabel’s cheeks got hot and she felt the uncomfortable squirm in her stomach, the twinge of embarrassment and guilt, “I was just being a dumbbell,” Mabel murmured, her voice getting quieter and quieter with each word, “I just wasn’t...it’s been such a long time since we...and I…”

“Shh,” Dipper said and kissed the tip of her nose, “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.” his mouth bent in just the slightest bit of a crooked smile, “And I still want you.” His smile broadened mischievously, “I still reeeally, _reeeally_ want you,” he crawled on top of her and she couldn’t help but grin up at him.

“Are you sure?” Mabel asked, challengingly, “I _miiiight_ need to see some proof,”

Dipper growled playfully, “Lemme give you a hand with that,” he said, peeling the overly big Mystery Shack tee shirt off of her. Mabel’s giggle turned into a sigh, as Dipper’s mouth and hands roamed her skin and she melted happily into his touch.

 


End file.
